When I returned from the Disney Half Marathon, I was excited to have finished 13.1 miles under less than ideal conditions. My body felt broken and abused, but my mind was in a good place.
Sure, finishing took me about 20 minutes longer than I had originally anticipated, but I finished something that not only had I been told I would never do, but also that (somewhere in the back of my mind) I really wasn't sure was possible.
And for the most part, I did it by myself.
Sure, I had a supportive husband and awesome friends (shoutout to Shannon, Kevin, David, Carra, and Steve-Dave), but on the day of the half-marathon, I was on my own. I did it myself.
And nobody could take that away from me.
A couple of days after we got home, Ray and I went to the local running store and got me a 13.1 sticker for the back of my car. Previously, I had thought that these were tacky, but now that I had actually gone the distance, you betcha, I wanted one. In actuality, I was so proud of myself I wanted more than 1, but it wasn't like I could put on the front, back and each side of my car, so I settled for just one sticker.
We drove home, and the next day, after getting my car washed and detailed, I put the sticker on.
But then it didn't quite feel right.
I'd been running for over a year, and now had completed a half marathon, but I didn't feel like a runner.
Would I ever feel like a runner?
What makes a person a runner?
In the end, I'm not sure it matters. I ran a half marathon. And I was suddenly wearing size 12 shorts that I could barely button 2 weeks before.... that makes the rest just semantics.